Wrong on so Many Different Levels
by FictionDump
Summary: Kink meme deanon: Ensemble/Anyonexanyone; the ability to fall in love is a curse. Warnings: Attempted suicide. One Shot.


**Kink meme deanon.**

**REQUEST:**

**Ensemble/Anyonexanyone; the ability to fall in love is a curse **

_Anything involving the above concept. Basically, nations are supposed to be born without the ability to fall in love (sex and lust sure, but not actually in love.) nations that /can/ fall in love are considered to be disabled (like there's something wrong with them.) lots of angst would be loved. :)_

_Bonus: France centric… With lots of angst involving the fact that, because he falls in love, the other nations regard him as a whore etc._

_Bonus 2: (kinda bono son valantino based) Germany falls in love with Italy. And Feliciano does not return it, at all. Angst on Germany because there's something 'wrong' with him and he doesn't want to 'end up like France'_

_Bonus 3: FrGer _

_You could also do something with other nation or whatever, the bonus' are by no mean ment to limit you to these characters :P_

**Time Taken**: 4 hours

**Unbetaed, Unedited.**

**WARNINGS**: Attempted suicide, mentions of torture.

**Pairings:** One sided Kimchibun if you squint.

**Happy reading!**

* * *

He knows that it's wrong.

He knows that it's so wrong on so many levels.

Empty brown eyes stares back at him from the mirror, judging the sleek knife in his hand, judging the pitiable state he is in, judging, _judging._ Heavy breathing stuffs the air and Korea is a desperate beast in the high strung silence that is the room.

God damn it.

He slams the knife he had held to his throat into the wooden dresser and the kitchen utensil quivers, threatening to split the dresser in two instead of guillotining his own neck.

A choked sob comes out of his mouth and his arms are crumbling pillars, barely holding himself while he looks down at the dark handle of the silver knife.

God. Damn. It.

Another World Meeting, like they had every week.

Confronting China and Japan every single time.

Noticing that the nations had neglected to call France again.

Confronting _China._

_Seeing._

Seeing how different he was.

He couldn't take it anymore.

It was just _so wrong._

Korea laughs, his hands clenching into fists as his face sticks itself in that grey area between crying and laughing and self-pity and so many different emotions he could never show in front of the others.

God. He really was so fucked up on so many different levels.

The knife handle is black and rough, and Korea can still feel the phantom tingle of it heavy in his hand. It's stiflingly accusing and Korea shuts his eyes closed as he looks back up at the mirror.

He looks horrible, his limp bangs hanging down and not slicked back for once. He's pale and there are wet trails down his face. He doesn't like his expression and he tries for a weak smile, but it slips off.

His eyes flick down and he can still see the knife- rage (Or is it self-hate?) bubbles up and a roar escapes his throat as his fist powers into the glass. His reflection becomes a spider web of black and peach and brown. Cracked.

But the knife is still there and Korea lets out a helpless laugh.

He's too scared to kill himself, too ashamed. The knife is a reminder- He can point the silver at his heart or neck a million times and tell his hands to push it in, but it will never work because he's a damn _coward._

It's been like this since he noticed that he was different.

A freak who knows how to love.

The knife reminds him of that.

He knows that it's wrong, since nations aren't supposed to feel love. They are systematic, manipulative, _not human. _They are not allowed to feel love. The closest they ever come to is compassion and even that is looked down upon, a sign of weakness. They follow orders and cater to their citizens, a warped humanoid machine only concerned with rising to the top- and Korea, _stupid, idiotic Korea,_ knows this, _knows, _since he had been trapped during WWI and WWII being used by whom he used to call his brother and _loved _as a brother, but of course Japan doesn't know that since he's _healthy._

_And he -Korea- is not._

Fuck. He wants to go throw himself off a roof but he knows he can't do it since he'd be too scared.

Death mocks him, _the knife mocks him_ even if he is immortal. He shouldn't be scared of it, but he is anyway. Even if he knows that whatever he does to himself, he will not die- he is scared.

Ha. Korea. _Scared. _The Korea who laughed at Japan to hide a bleeding heart when he was tortured. The Korea who always declared everything originated from him. The perpetual smiler that no-one could ever break. Always so happy-go-lucky. Too idiotic, too foolish to be scared. That _foolish, foolish_ Korea. _Scared._

_Scared._

Korea laughs and his broken reflection laughs too.

Just what exactly had he done in his past life to deserve this? Deserve this world of betrayal, of lies and deceit, to be a loving _idiot_ in the matters where love was _shunned_ and _laughed_ upon?

Why is he like this, a _human_ in a world of ruthless, inhumane, unloving humanoid machines?

Machines. Useable machines.

And that's how it was. Is.

Nations are meant to be used and be used. That's how it always was, and how it always will be. If it was war and occupation before, it is now in a battle amongst signatures and important documents, a time where the pen is indeed mightier than the sword. Past grudges quickly forgiven and forgotten with a flick of a pen and hurting, scathing remarks hidden under the tirade of complicated and 'polite' words written on paper. Why can't he just accept this mechanic system, his role as a 'vessel'?

_He can't survive in this world, not when everything is just an empty front._

All the other nations take this all in stride, not let emotions come to the surface, not _love _because in this world of nations and maybe politics, brothers, sisters, and lovers are just empty tradition that have been held up just for the sake of convenience. Family bonds do not exist. 'Brothers' might as well fuck each other every night and nobody would even bat an eyelash.

_He can't survive in this world, not when everything is an empty, empty front- because he needs to __love._

The tears are streaming freely and a desperate scream is threatening to claw out from his throat but manic laughter is already filling the air. He drunkenly grapples at the knife and waves it around when it comes free, almost falling back on his butt when the knife suddenly dislodges itself.

He does a weird dance and collapses anyway.

The knife mockingly buries itself in the floor and Korea is on his stomach, the knife just in front of him.

There's blood on the knife and Korea stares at the glistening red, right hand still wrapped around the handle while his left is splayed out beside it. He's cut himself somewhere but he doesn't know where and he's not interested.

Blood from his cheek drips down on the floor.

Korea doesn't notice this.

He curls up on himself and rocks himself instead.

He is so fucked up.

He wants to shower his brothers and sisters with heartfelt hugs (No, not the breast grabbing kind) and kisses on the cheeks, be a family, go on picnics, but he can't.

_He can't._

Of course, he has tried before.

And of course, all of them being _healthy_ and _normal,_ they all questioned his sanity.

(When he tried a bit too much, they began to suspect and that's when Korea switched to breast grabbing, because he'd rather be marked down as annoying and as a pervert rather than be marked as a disabled nation, a _human._)

(He's seen what happened to France with Canada and England and _Jeanne d_'_Arc_ and all he doesn't want to go through that too.)

(He's just manages to console himself knowing he's not the only one.)

(Not the only one who can love.)

(The knife gleams at him.)

Korea laughs.

Love.

It is why he craves for a simple compliment from China, a smile and a laugh and a "Good job" while his hair is ruffled- since an "I love you" can never tumble out from the old nation's lips. (And maybe he loves China just a bit more than he'd like to admit, because he wants to cry at the fact he can never hear those three words come from his mouth.)

It is why he just wants a brotherly day out with Japan, all teasing and happy mirth that can only come if there is the concept of "Family love"- but that will never happen, they will just remain friendly strangers because there is no such thing. (And because of the occupation- but would that have happened if they really were loving brothers, and not the _healthy_ nations they were supposed to be?)

Hell, It is why he wants to kiss his twin sister on the head without getting strange looks and a slap in the face from said sister even before the damn war- because even North Korea is healthier than him. That's only how she turned her back on him, after all.

Korea wonders why _he_ can't be normal, like the others, why his wishes are stupid like this when all the others have "space exploration" or "regaining back the empire" on their private wish list they carry close to their hearts.

Korea laughs.

Just laughs.

Laughs a self-deprecating, sad, mirthless, empty laugh. The tears have dried up long ago.

It peters off and it's only him and the knife in the high-strung silence that is the room.

The broken mirror keeps vigil.

…

"…Korea, are you there, aru?"

He's not sure how long he's stayed there, but there's a familiar call outside the door and Korea jumps to with a start.

A smile automatically stretches itself on his face and he hates himself for it. His mind is elated- _(It's China! Aniki came to visit me!)- _even if it shouldn't be because China probably didn't visit him out of love, just out of necessity.

He's happy even if it means putting the act that is his overbearing demeanor and breast grabbing- actions to hide the fact he is infected with a disease, infected with an emotion that humans are only supposed to have. (He would have tacked 'forced smile' on the list sometimes but not this time.)

The floorboards creak as Korea stands and shuts the door to his room, grabbing a bandage on the way out.

There's the sound of running water and then a cheerful "Aniki's breasts are minnneee, daze!" as the front door opens with a flurry of swear words, and happy laughter that was Korea's.

He can't explain the golden locks that coil in his stomach and the badump badump of his flurried heart, but he chalks it up to him being different.

He also can't explain the constricting warmth that floods him when China pokes at his bandage that stretches across his cheek from the knife cut earlier, all concern but never love.

_Never love._

"Oh, it's nothing,"

Korea says, laughter not quite ringing true and perhaps just a bit forced this time around.

Forced laughter.

Love.

_The broken mirror keeps vigil._

All so wrong on so many levels-

_And the knife is still stuck in the floor._

* * *

**A/N: I actually don't ship Kimchibun, believe it or not. (With Korea, I actually ship America or bless the tiny ship, France.) But I wanted to try putting Korea into perspective if this AU really was the case. I'm not quite sure if I succeeded.**

**Anyhow, I know it's a long way from what you requested, but I hope you enjoyed, OP!**

**Notes+Author's ramblings:**

**1. What Korea is referring to when he mentions torture is the Japanese occupation, which you all probably know if you've read any angsty Korea fics. Yeah.**

**2. Yes, Korea loves China in more than a brotherly way. (Uh, maybe?) Korea doesn't know it himself, and is pretty confused about his own feelings. He doesn't quite understand love, even if he has and has watched every single K-drama on DVD.**

**3. I tried to include Hong Kong and Macau and Taiwan in this, among other Asian nations, but I decided to stay with Korea, Japan, and China. North Korea just got a mention because muse said so. _ Muse is finicky muse.**

**4. I really hope there aren't any typos or tense confusion or grammar errors because I'm writing this out at 5 in the morning and I am just a bit sleep deprived.**


End file.
